


On the Necessity of Drama

by BadassIndustries



Series: Canon Era Shenanigans [1]
Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Bahorel's Circle of Romantic Friends, Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Canon Era Shenanigans, Capital R Romantic, Gen, M/M, Moved from Saved Snippets, Poetrysmash, humour and fluff, no angst whatsoever, romantic friendships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:34:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25332496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadassIndustries/pseuds/BadassIndustries
Summary: Bahorel is trying to become one with the sofa after a party, but there's no rest for those Committed to Fighting Artistic Injustice!Just some silly Capital R Romantic Shenanigans
Relationships: Bahorel & Jean Prouvaire, Bahorel/Jean Prouvaire
Series: Canon Era Shenanigans [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1518017
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	On the Necessity of Drama

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been moved here, it used to be part of Saved Snippets but it bothered me that not all of my Canon Era Shenanigans stories were in the same place.
> 
> So now finally the continuity all in the same place.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Bahorel!”

The persistent voice had been accompanied by a loud banging on his door for the past five minutes. Bahorel did not feel like getting up to open it. He had not moved since this morning, when he had collapsed upside down on his sopha after returning from the dramatic reading of Pierre’s play. Pierre’s work was better enjoyed through a thorough haze of illegal indulgences and he would quite like to stay here for a few hours more.

“Bahorel, it’s me!”

Bahorel pulled his dressing gown further over his head and pondered this for a while. Of course the intruder was a me. Every speaker has an identity to speak of. Even if that identity was a dashed inconvenient one, calling when all Bahorel wanted to do was melt into the cushions. Thank the Republic that he had had the foresight to close the curtains. The dark smoky ambience suited his mood perfectly. If only the dratted visitor would take a hint.

“Bahorel, it’s Prouvaire. I need your help!”

That changed things. Bahorel was always at home to friends in need, and particularly for Jehan Prouvaire. With great effort, he heaved himself up to open the door. Jehan fell upon him the moment it opened sufficiently to let him through.

“Bahorel! I need you! I am to see Coriolanus tonight, but Jean-Jacques has heard whispers that Davide will come in costume to pretend he’s more of a free thinker than we are. Remember how he said that Thibaut’s manuscript was shackled by today’s propriety? He’s trying to overshadow everyone with some costume he had his mistress make for him. I need a toga!”

Romantic fervour had overtaken Jehan Prouvaire. He stood tall and full of idealistic pride. In his hands he clutched a white sheet, artistic fire in his eyes. He pulled Bahorel back in by his robe, leaving his willing captive ample opportunity to despair over Jehan’s green doublet and yellow breeches.

“To think, Bahorel, he plans to show us all up, pretend we are all unimaginative.”

“Bah!” cried Bahorel, “the man carries an umbrella to protect those stupid curls of his. He denies it of course, but I’ve seen it. We can surely do better than that.”

Jehan flew into his arms, kissed him soundly, and threw himself down on the sopha.

“I mean to portray Corialanus at the moment of death. I’ll need at least Aufidius’ footprint. And preferably some blood.”

Bahorel grinned.

“My friend, how would you feel about a sword?”

He was already plotting. A toga would be good, but armour would be better. Prouvaire in an artistic rage was a beautiful thing. Soon, they would go to the butcher’s to get enough pig’s blood to make the costume properly gruesome. Everyone knew Davide fainted at the sight of blood. Bahorel smiled and let himself fall down, landing half on the rapidly talking Jehan, who took no notice of this attack. Life could always use some more drama.


End file.
